


221B

by Shreiking_Beauty



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 221Bs, Crack, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Romance, one shots
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-08
Updated: 2014-10-08
Packaged: 2018-02-20 10:25:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 2,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2425295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shreiking_Beauty/pseuds/Shreiking_Beauty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just a collection of 221Bs and one-shots for when there's a plot bunny stuck in my head. Mystrade & Johnlock R&R!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock is bored, so he decides to be a vampire

John sat in his chair, reading the paper, with a steaming cup of tea beside him. The picture was so ordinary, anyone looking in would suspect the scene to be typical of any middle-class flat in London. Until a dark shape crept up behind him.

He didn't even flinch when Sherlock suddenly towered over him and hissed, spreading his arms out so his cape hovered over the two men.

“Sherlock, stop, I'm reading the paper,” John mumbled, pulling the paper a bit closer.

“But I'm bored!” Sherlock whispered eerily. John rolled his eyes and smiled affectionately. 

“So what made you decide to dress up like a vampire and stalk me?”

Sherlock huffed as though he were offended by the question. “I'm not 'dressed' as a vampire, I am a vampire!” He leaned down close to John's face so he would look at him, revealing fake fangs and hissing “Fear me!”

“If you're a vampire, how can you be in the sun?” John challenged, nodding toward the stream of sunlight let in through the drapes. Sherlock gasped dramatically and slowly fell to the ground, writhing and hissing in pain.

“Sherlock, you are hopeless,” John said, taking a sip of tea as Sherlock weakly spoke.

“ . . . need . . . blood . . .”


	2. Box

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock goes to the hospital, and Greg meets Mycroft

Mycroft Holmes stood posh as ever outside the hospital room where his brother was being stitched up, and from which came a steady stream of curses. John was inside holding his hand, and Mycroft smirked at the pair.

This was how Detective Inspector Lestrade met him; standing perfectly straight, smirking proudly in a handsome three piece suit, and, as always, holding his trusty umbrella.   
Handsome . . . much like his brother, only not boyish and sexy like him. Manly, proud, responsible . . .

Greg blushed and cleared his throat, reminding himself that he had a wife. An unfaithful wife, his inner monologue added before being hushed once more. Mycroft turned from smirking at his brother through the door to smile politely at Greg.

“Ah, Detective Inspector Lestrade,” he greeted. “It's nice to finally put a face to the name.”

“Likewise,” Greg replied, shaking his hand.

“I do appreciate you dragging my brother here, I'd rather not have him attempt to stitch himself up again.”

“Again?” Greg inquired, not at all surprised. Mycroft let out a condescending huff directed at his brother.

“Somehow he never grasped the concept of sanitation. Lead to some rather serious infections when he found it suitable to substitute proper stitches with a dirty needle and thread from Mummy's sewing box.”


	3. Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock is bored again and misses his Jawn, so he goes to visit him

John buzzed the desk to signal he was ready for the next patient. Without looking at the name on the file, he scanned through their listed symptoms as the door opened.

“Yes, good morning Mister . . .” he began automatically before sighing at the patient who sat on the table, “Sherlock.”

“I believe you mean 'Mr. Homes', John.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I'm sick. Fix me,” he demanded. 

“Sherlock, if you're just here because you're bored,” he threatened.

“That's not the only reason I'm here!” John rolled his eyes at his pouting friend and humored him with an unusually long checkup topped off with a placebo prescription and an affectionate pat on the back.


	4. Bed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John comes home drunk, Sherlock takes care of him.

“Sheeeeerrrrrrrrrrrrrrlllllyyyy!” John sang as he swung into the living room. Sherlock frowned from his seat.

“John, you're drunk.”

“I'm quite well aware, Mr. Sherlock Holmes,” he slurred, stumbling to his chair and plopping into it. Sherlock sighed and got John a glass of water.

“You are going to drink this and go to bed,” Sherlock told him sternly. John obediently drank most of the water, then Sherlock dragged him to his own room, not about to brave the stairs.

John giggled as Sherlock dropped him on the bed. “You smell like a doughnut,” he chuckled.

“Thank you, John. Please go to sleep now.”

“Only if you say the magic word.”

“I said 'please', John.”

“ . . . oh. I meant the other magic word!”

“No magic words, John. Just sleep.” John pouted and yanked Sherlock on top of him. “Umpf! John--”

“If you don't say the magic word, you have to stay here forever!!!” Sherlock tried to wriggle out of his grasp, accepting that John was beyond reason. After a while, John passed out, and Sherlock went to sleep on the couch. 

The next morning, John found Sherlock on couch, fast asleep. He woke him up before making tea, deciding not to ask why he had slept in Sherlock's bed.


	5. Busy-ness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft catches Greg in the rain. Greg asks him for a drink.

“This is not my day . . .” DI Lestrade muttered as he walked down an empty street: Not a cab in sight, and raining cats and dogs. He came to a stop when he realized he wasn't sure what street he was on anymore, but he couldn't read the sign through the raindrops.

“Detective Inspector,” a voice spoke from behind him. He turned around, surprised, to find Mycroft Holmes holding out his open umbrella for him, and steps under it.

“What brings you out here?” Lestrade asks casually.

“Would you believe me if I said I was out for a walk?” Deciding not to press the matter further, Lestrade just smiles to himself and lets Mycroft walk him down the street.

“Have a drink with me?” he asked hopefully.

“I suppose I could do that,” Mycroft answered, equally as casual, though both men sported pleased smirks.

“Not too busy?”

“I'm always too busy, but, as they say, 'all work and no play makes a dull man.'” They tucked into a small pub, filled with people getting out of the rain, and ordered drinks: beer for Lestrade, and red wine for Mycroft.

“I didn't even know they had wine here,” Lestrade remarked, raising his glass. “To busy-ness.”

“To busy-ness,” Mycroft agreed.


	6. Blankets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John let Sherlock watch a scary movie with him. Sherlock is NOT scared, but he is too cold to sleep alone . . .

“John.”

“Hmm?”

“I can't sleep.” John groaned and sat up, rubbing his eyes.

“Sherlock, you said you wouldn't be scared if I let you watch that film with me.”

“I'm not scared, John. That movie was stupid and dull. It's just . . . too cold.” John rolled his eyes.

“Well, what do you want me to do about it?”

“I think that in the interest of both our warmth, we should share a bed, and furthermore it would be beneficial to sleep up here because it will naturally be warmer due to the affects of rising heat and such.” John chuckled quietly.

“If you're really that cold, and that's the only solution, I suppose I can't argue, can I?” Sherlock scowled at him.

“Yes, John, I'm really that cold.” John rolled his eyes again and moved over, lifting up the covers, which Sherlock clambered into and cuddled up next to him. A few moments later, a dull thud sounded, making Sherlock jump and squish closer to John.

“What was that?!” he hissed into the darkness.

“Nothing, Sherlock. I promise you it's nothing to worry about. Just trust me and go to sleep.”

“Okay,” Sherlock replied, surprisingly calmer, though he was still clutching John's form tightly through the blankets.


	7. Bump

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How Sherlock got to drive in The Hounds of Baskerville

When I first saw this episode, and saw Sherlock driving, I thought 'how the heck did Sherlock get into the driver's seat?' I imagine their conversation went something like this, only longer and more violent maybe.

=====================================JOHNLOCK====================================

After renting a large SUV, Sherlock began climbing into the driver's seat.

“Hold on, Sherlock, what makes you think you're driving?” Sherlock stopped and looked at John.

“I paid for it, I get to drive it.”

“Do you even know how to drive?”

“Of course, yes, and I have a current license,” Sherlock replied impatiently. “Now can we get going?”

“I really don't know if I trust you behind the wheel, Sherlock,” John argued. “Just let me drive.”

“No.” John took on a firm stance.

“Sherlock, you make me get your phone for you out of your own pocket! Now you won't let me drive? What's wrong with you?”  
Sherlock pursed his lips into a firm line. “If you want to drive, get your own car.” He then got into the seat and shut the door.

“Sherlock!” He started the engine. “SHERLOCK!” He started backing up. “Okay, OKAY!” John ran to the passenger's side and threw open the door. “Sherlock, if you get us killed, I'll torture you're soul for eternity.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Are you getting in or not?” John climbed in and braced himself, jumping every time they went over a bump.


	8. Basement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In a thunderstorm, John has a panic attack and Sherlock comforts him

O. M. F. G!!!!! I'm in the hella bombest thunder storm EVA!!!!!!! Such raw POWER it's like someone unleashed Mycroft and Moriarty at the same time and they're having an epic battle over my house!!! This is without a doubt my favest weather ever! It's raining so hard my streets are flooding and every ten seconds my sky lights up like LIGHT!!!!!!! and then a few seconds later its like

BRRBRBRDBRDBRDSBRBDRDBDRBRDRBMOOOODNROMODDORORORMROMDMBOBOMBODOOOOOOM!!!

Oh holy hell that last one was like FACSZIDZIZIZZOZPZZAZZPAZZZZAAAPPPP!

So inspirational, I thought I'd write you a 221B!!! I wanted it to be funny, but I tried to think of -WOAH THAT WAS A BIG ONE- what the characters would really do so it actually turned out kind of sad. Here it goes!

==============================================JOHNLOCK========================================================

A feral scream tore from John's throat as he was ripped out of his nightmare. He had been dreaming of a particularly nasty bomb raid in his platoon, but that last explosion was definitely real. He sat on his bed, shaking violently and breathing heavily, looking around his room and trying to figure out what was going on. 

A flash of light lit up his room for an instant, making John jump, followed a few seconds later by another explosive BOOM that vibrated through the walls.

John lost all control then, and dove under this bed, cowering and shaking as he was bombarded by more lights and booms. He suddenly remembered Sherlock and panicked even more.

“Sherock!” he squeaked out. “SHERLOCK! W-WE'RE BEING BOMBED! . . . DO SOMETHING!!!”

“John!” His door opened and Sherlock rushed in, kneeling beside his bed. 

“SHERLOCK ARE YOU MAD?! WE NEED TO GET DOWNSTAIRS! GOD, WE HAVE TO SAVE MRS. HUDSON!!!”

John scrambled out from under his bed. Sherlock put his hands on his shoulders tightly. “John, calm down, we're not being bombed--” John interrupted him by trying to shove him out the door. “John, STOP! It's okay! It's just a thunderstorm!”

“W-w-what? What do you mean?” John asked, finally beginning to compose himself. 

“Come on, John, see for yourself,” Sherlock said quietly, calmly, and lead John to the window.

John looked down on the calm, quiet London street being pelted by rain. There was no smoke, no fires, no throngs of people screaming and running for shelter. One man (possibly Mycroft) had even braved the storm and was swiftly making his way down the street under the cover of an umbrella. A bolt of lightning cracked across the red-tinted sky, lighting up every shadow, and the thunder that followed was as loud as the others.

He was still breathing heavily, now with unparalleled relief, and he unashamedly leaned against Sherlock, who put his arm around him and rubbed his shoulder soothingly.

“Oh . . . oh God, Sherlock, I . . . I thought . . . we were being attacked . . .”

“It's alright, John. You're okay. We're okay.” Sherlock smiled down at him cheerfully. “You're lucky; you know Mycroft would never allow anything like that, at least not without warning us.”

John smiled and rolled his eyes.

“Would you like to watch some telly?” Sherlock asked quietly into the shorter man's hair. “I'll make you some tea.”

“What you I do without you Sherlock?” John sighed gratefully. 

Sherlock cocked his head to the side, smiling at the image; “Well, you'd probably panic and drag Mrs. Hudson to the basement.”


	9. Best

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft, Greg, Sherlock, and John go on a road trip. Mycroft has a way of avoiding annoying Sherlock complaining.

John and Sherlock climbed into the back seat of Mycroft's black car early one June morning, coerced into driving to meet the Holmes's parents, along with Mycroft and Lestrade. Sherlock was already grumbling quietly and fidgeting about. 

“Good morning, Sherlock and John,” Mycroft greeted as he casually slipped a silver disc into the CD player. The speakers started letting out a soothing, peaceful classical piece that John recognized but didn't know the name of. 

Lestrade gave Mycroft a look that said 'seriously?'. He just smirked in return. “You'll thank me later.”  
Not five minutes later, Sherlock's head fell onto John's shoulder, giving him a small start. Mycroft grinned triumphantly and turned off the music.

“You may now thank me.”

“Thank you!” John and Greg said earnestly at the same time, glancing back at the sleeping form of Sherlock.

“How did you--” Greg started, obviously impressed.

“Oh, he's always been that way. There are a few classical pieces that will put him to sleep within minutes. Mother used to play them to make him sleep when we were children.”

“Well, now I know how to get him to sleep more than once a week,” John said gratefully.

“I'm afraid I can't help you with his eating habits,” Mycroft admitted, “but I do my best.”


	10. Drunk Greg

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All dialogue, Greg and John go to a pub so Greg can confess his deepest desire and drown it in alcohol

“Hey, John!”

“Hey, Greg, thanks for inviting me, I really needed a pint.”

“I knew you would, living with Sherlock.”

“. . .”

“. . .”

“. . .”

“ . . . I think I'm gay.”

. . .

“You know, if you're asking me out--”

“No no no no no no! I just-- it's this one guy . . .”

“Who?”

“Well . . .”

“Anyone I know?”

“Well, yes . . .”

“It better not be Sherlock!”

“No no, of course not! . . . however, that brother of his is . . . something else.”

“MYCROFT?! NO WAY!”

“I know! Why do you think I'm drinkin' so much?”

“Speaking of, you might want to slow it down.”

“My life will never be complete if I don't shag Mycroft's brains out.”

“Okay, TMI, Greg.”

“Have you seen that arse! In those perfectly tailored suits, that hot arse . . .”

“Having a crush is no reason to drink yourself under the table, Greg.”

“HA! This is no crush! It's Mycroft Bloody Holmes we're talkin' about! You know those Holmeses, they never do anything half way, you know? If you like one of 'em, you are head-over-heels, googly-eyed, madly in love with 'em.”

“. . . have you told him?”

“Are you mad?! Tell him?! Geez, John, he'd ship me off to some dessert island or sumtin.”

“Dessert? You mean desert?”

“John, don' you feel even the teeny-weeny ittiest bit for Sherlock?”

“Well, he's my best friend--”

“But don' you ever just look at him and think; 'what does he do wif that umbrella?'”

“Are we . . . talking about the same person?”

“Come on, mate, you can't tell me ya never e'en 'ad a dirty dream about 'im or anyfing!”

“Well . . . maybe . . .”

“Yeah, me too.”

“ . . . About Sherlock, or Mycroft?”

“Bof, duh! Not-not togever, though. The one 'bout Shelrock was weird. We were in my office--”

“Alright, Greg, time to go home!”


End file.
